


They'll Be (Knocking on Your Heart's Door)

by mrsvc



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsvc/pseuds/mrsvc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosalee kissed like she had nothing better to do and Nick kissed like it was his last chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They'll Be (Knocking on Your Heart's Door)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sosobriquet and Menacherie for handholding. Someone should probably put an embargo on me writing Grimm fic, because I feel like this is getting out of hand. I just have a lot of feelings. Unbeta'd.

Rosalee kissed like she had nothing better to do, like every time was their first. She worshipped his neck and his wrists, pulse points where she could almost taste his blood running underneath his skin.

He thought it would change, that they would grow commonplace and boring, settle into a routine like his parents and grandparents, but she never let them. She kept him on his toes with the sheer intensity of the fire that she stoked between them.

Monroe thought he could live forever on the taste of her lips alone.

\-----

Nick kissed like it was his last chance, and considering that he and Hank were about to throw themselves into the middle of an ancient blood feud involving Hasslichen and Siegbarstes, it might damn-well have been.

Monroe held him tight against his chest, kept his eyes firmly closed, and soaked in this last minute with Nick. "What was that for?" he panted against Nick's clean-shaven cheek. He smelled spicy, like Monroe's aftershave, with the sharp cleanliness of pine underneath. 

Nick's eyes were an electric blue when he opened them, and he said very seriously, "I wanted you to know. In case."

\-----

Laying beside her in bed, Monroe liked to run his rough fingertips over the smooth expanse of her shoulders, to rub across the silk of her nightgown. Her hair was soft, and it crackled gently between his fingers when he rubbed the strands together absently.

"You're quiet tonight," she murmured, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. He loved the pert little curve of her nose, and the high cheekbones that made her look fox-like, even when she wasn't shifted.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged noncommittally, and looked out of their window at the missing moon. It was halfway through its cycle, and, despite not being an actual werewolf, he still felt the effects of the phases on his instincts, on his control. Right now, he was at the most level and calm moment he could possibly be, so he couldn't blame what came out of his mouth on anything besides himself. "I love you."

Cuddled against his side, she raised up on her elbows to look down at his face, her hair acting as a curtain to shield them from the outside world. She looked equal parts smug and amused, and Monroe opened his mouth to take it back, except she quieted him with kiss.

"I love you, too," she grinned, the edges of her teeth pushing against his lower lip, and he couldn't help but wrap his hands around her shoulders and kept her pinned against his chest for as long as she let him.

\-----

He saw them, standing behind the counter of the spice shop. Nick had that smile on, the charming one that had worked on him and countless other people. Rosalee reached up with her clever fingers to brush Nick's dark hair from his forehead, and he looked suddenly, uncharacteristically shy. Monroe slid in behind Rose, threaded his arms around her waist, and she looked up at him with her fingers still on Nick's skin.

"I was just telling him he needs a haircut." She doesn't sound apologetic at all, and Monroe didn't need one anyway.

"I don't know," he answered, catching Nick's surprised look. "He's kind of being rocking the Bieber. Old school Bieber, you know. Before puberty."

"Oh, okay," Nick scoffed. "I get it. I'll call in the morning, okay?"

He bent forward to place a kiss on Rosalee's cheek, and Monroe grabbed his elbow briefly in goodbye.

"I wish she remembered him," she sighed as soon as the door swung closed behind him.

"You, me, and him all, babe."

\-----

Hank frowned as Rose poured a little water past Nick's lips. "Reapers?" he repeated, dragging Monroe into the other room.

"Yeah, man. Hunters, for Grimms. We've, uh..." Hank's eyebrows shot up, waiting patiently, and Monroe thought he looked like he figured whatever is coming next has got to be good. "We've dealt with our fair share of them, Nick and I."

"Dealt with?" Hank was too perceptive for his own good, but Monroe knows that's what makes him such a great cop.

"Heads in boxes tends to be the best way to send messages lately."

Hank nodded, arms crossed over chest, and one hand absently rubbing at his neck. Monroe could tell that the cop in him was warring with the old murder of two men, while his new role of being in-the-loop was telling him they had been trying to kill them all first. He seemed to reach a conclusion, and wrapped his hand around Monroe's upper arm. "I'm glad you were there, man."

Hank had brought Nick back here while Monroe had cleaned up the bodies as best as he could and boxed up the heads to return to sender. They were going to become a legend, Monroe knew, and legends were dangerous. Legends always seemed to come with giant bull's-eyes on their backs because anyone who takes out a legend tends to become one themselves. 

Monroe had just gotten back from his little errands to find Nick's wounds already cleaned and dressed. They had had to go underground for this one, no official police cover story to smooth over questions, and Nick had to go and get his left arm sliced open. 

He can't imagine what they had had to do, but the stench of blood was strong in the storeroom, and the reddish brown stain on Rose's jeans told him all he needed to know. Nick looked pale and drawn, and she kept wiping a cool cloth across his forehead to soothe him into more rest.

"So am I," Monroe finally answered, and Hank's eyed him curiously.

"You've had his back this whole time, and, while I'm not, uh, used to the whole werewolf, Wesen thing, I can appreciate that you've been here for him when I couldn't be. He's my friend, my partner, and I don't like thinking about where he'd be if-"

"I know." In the other room, Rosalee bent over and kissed the edge of Nick's mouth and Monroe shook Hank’s hand. "I know."

\-----

Monroe carried three beers into his living room and pushed them into everyone's waiting hands. Rose had two pots boiling: one, another half-baked idea to help Juliette remember, and the other, a homemade vegetable stew for their dinner. Nick accepted the beer thankfully, his eyes the saddest they've ever been since Monroe had known him, and he drinks half the bottle before he says, "she'll never remember me."

Monroe folded himself into the corner of the couch, Rose's feet pressed against his thigh, and he sighed deeply. "We don't know that, Nick. I've never taken you to be such a pessimist."

"It's..." He took another drink and stared at the place where Monroe's fingers had encircled Rosalee's ankle. "The way she looks at me is different. I still love her, but she looks at me and it's like, it's like she doesn't even want to get to know me."

"She'll fall in love with you, again," Rose said, with conviction. 

Nick jumped out of his chair and started pacing. "But, I'm different now. She fell in love with a cop, an orphan. Not a Grimm, not a... a liar." He was tense and jumpy, his gestures wider, and his voice tight with reined-in emotion. When neither of them spoke again, he grabbed his coat and shrugged it over his shoulders. "You know what, I'll call you guys later."

\-----

Juliette came to the spice shop on a Tuesday, when Monroe was at home doing another commission and Nick was at the station wrapping up some long overdue paperwork. He had been sending Rose whiny texts all day, claiming that Hank was mean to him, that Monroe was ignoring him, that Rose was the only person who loved him anymore, and she couldn’t help but smile every time her phone buzzed during the long periods of downtime at the store. 

“Rosalee?” Juliette called when she came in. Feeling a little guilty, Rose put her phone down quickly. “Hi.” 

Rose smiled, a little awkwardly, and asked, “Juliette, yes. Can I help you?”

“No, no, I...” she trailed off and looked around. The shop looked strange to anyone who didn’t come in there with a specific reason in mind, and Rosalee can tell that it’s just adding to Juliette’s confusion. Nick’s world is colored with this strange cast of characters that know her, and whom she remembers, but she can’t imagine how Juliette is fitting Nick into all of these scenes. “I’ve asked everyone else I know, and I just can’t get the right answer. Nothing anyone says makes sense, and I feel like, if it had all been real... If it had all been real, it would sound familiar.” 

Rosalee felt her heart break in half, because she saw the blank space in Juliette’s eyes where her love for Nick used to be, and she understood why Nick looked so hopeless. He was erased so completely from her mind that she could remember meeting Rose, but not why. “I’m not going to tell you that you should love him back just because he loves you.” 

Juliette’s shoulders sagged, and Rose can tell she’s said the right thing. The tears pricked up at the corners of her eyes and she handed Juliette a tissue quietly. “He is really wonderful, isn’t he?” she sobbed a little. 

Rosalee looked down at the four missed text messages on her phone, all from Nick with varying degrees of humor and seriousness based on whatever thought had popped in his head while he stared at the giant stack of paperwork on his desk. She thought about how he washed the dishes in Monroe’s sink when he was feeling awkward about going home to his big house that Juliette remembers without him in it. “Yes.” 

“And he’s been so wonderful to me. He hasn’t pushed me, hasn’t tried anything. He’s been the perfect gentleman.” She chuckled a little, like it was some kind of sick joke, and Rose grabbed her hand suddenly. “Does that make me the bad person?” 

“No.” Rose squeezed her hand tightly, feeling the rough skin from where she had to wash her hands frequently at the veterinarian's office, and the delicate bones of her slim fingers. She’s beautiful, intelligent, capable, and independent, and she wasn’t in love with Nick anymore. “Absolutely not, Juliette.”

“We can’t go back to where we were, not this quickly, not if I don’t remember him. We had three years to fall in love before, and this... this feels so forced.” 

“He’ll wait for you. He would always wait for you.”

Juliette wiped her cheeks clean with the tissue and looked directly in Rosalee’s eyes. “I don’t want him to wait. I don’t want him to be tethered down by...”

Rose let go of her hand, and had to wipe a few tears away from her own face, before she breathed out, “Juliette.”

“Is it selfish? To want to walk away? To want to start over with him from the beginning to see if it would be the same?”

“It won’t be the same.” Juliette agreed with her, nodding her head. “But it could still be better.” 

“Thank you, by the way, for having me over for dinner last week. It was... good. It was good to be out of the house for something besides work.”

“Listen, I’m going to close up, and we’re going to the bar tonight. Monroe can keep Nick busy at the house. We are going to drink, and laugh, and talk about everything except boys. What do you say?”

Juliette looked torn, like she wanted nothing more and nothing less than to go out for the night with Rosalee, but she ended up frowning, her eyes still rimmed red from crying. “Raincheck?” she offered. 

Rosalee ran around the counter quickly and folded Juliette into a hug. “Raincheck.”

\-----

Nick laid out on the couch, the television muted in the background, while Monroe puttered around the house cleaning up the clutter. It never seemed to be very messy, to Nick, but Juliette was always much neater of the two of them. The baseball game wasn’t very interesting, but neither was Monroe right now, and Nick felt empty now that Juliette had pulled even further away from him. He’d wanted to believe she would still remember, but she wasn’t asking questions anymore and that was the scariest thing of all. While she wanted to remember, hope could stay afloat, but now... Nick wasn’t sure. 

Monroe could sense his discomfort, and settled down at Nick’s hip. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No. What are we, five?”

Monroe put on his most unamused face, and Nick sighed, turning his face so that he didn’t have to meet Monroe’s eyes while he talked. “She, uh... She told me that it wasn’t fair, to either of us, to force something that took years to make the first time.” 

“Oh,” Monroe groaned, sympathetic, “dude.”

“She told me not to wait for her anymore.” 

“Nick-” Monroe reached out and laid his hand on top of Nick’s. 

Nick looked up suddenly. “Is that... should I let her go? Is she asking me to let her go?”

Monroe laced their fingers together, a pointed gesture, and rested them against Nick’s chest. Juliette was so smart, so kind. She was a thinker, Monroe had always known that, and that is what had made her a danger to Nick and to herself when Nick was a baby Grimm. Monroe doesn’t want to be the one to say it, but he supposed someone had to. “Isn’t this better, though?” He doesn’t bring up Aunt Marie, but her words roll around in the back of Nick’s mind constantly, Monroe knew that, and he waited for Nick to speak again. Instead, Nick just brought their hands up to his lips and pressed a kiss to Monroe’s knuckles. 

They don’t talk about it, the kiss in the kitchen from months ago, but it sat comfortably inside their chests to know what they meant to each other and not have to be afraid that they would die without knowing. Rose had asked, once, how they worked, and Monroe still didn’t have a good answer for her. All he knew was that, when Nick’s eyes were soft and dark, like they were now, he couldn’t help but lean forward and catch his lips in a short kiss that reminded them both of a vow made over beer. 

Nick’s eyes stayed closed, after Monroe had smoothed the creases in his forehead away with his thumb, and he threw a blanket over his friend’s legs as he slept the afternoon away. 

\-----

Nick and Juliette stood in the driveway of the house they’d bought together, with all of Nick’s stuff packed in the back of his car. She was wrapped in a sweater he had bought her two years ago when she got four colds that winter, and she probably had no idea where it came from. It was awkward, to stand across from her like a stranger, but he knew that he was one, now. He didn’t know if this had been Adalind’s plan all along, or just a pleasant side effect of her cruelty towards Juliette, but he had lost this battle, somewhere along the way. He only hoped that she was safe now. 

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” she apologized again, the fourth time she’d said it since he had begun packing his things. “I am so sorry.” He thought that maybe she was apologizing for something different every time: _sorry I don’t remember_ , _sorry about your home_ , _sorry about forgetting you_ , and maybe even _sorry that I don’t love you anymore_.

“It’s fine, it’s... It makes sense. Staying here, I was.... I was playing house with you.”

Juliette shook her head. “No, this was your house too. Your pictures, your clothes, your coffee in the cupboards.”

Nick looked over his shoulder at all of those things shoved in the back of his car now, and she watched him do it, following his train of thought perfectly. 

“Friends?” she asked, a tether in the upheaval of their separation, and Nick took it. 

“Friends.” He stuck his hand out for a handshake, while she spread her arms for a hug, and they both stopped and laughed at themselves. They weren’t in sync, not the way that they had been when things had been perfect, when Nick had bought the diamond ring that still sits in its box in his sock drawer. It felt like the end of an era, and not just an interlude, but Nick didn’t let himself fall into the melancholy of the situation. This time, when she spread her arms, he fitted into them easily enough, and they parted quickly. 

“Don’t you wait on me, Nick Burkhardt.” 

Instead of answering her, Nick smiled, and slipped into the driver’s seat. 

\-----

Rosalee got worried when Nick threw himself a little too much into his work after that. He spent more time down at the station than he did anywhere else, and Monroe doesn’t seem to feel like they need to stage an intervention for this. 

“Look,” he said, rubbing her arms. “I know you love him and, because of that, only want what’s best for him, but... he was going to marry her.”

She curled into his chest, her fingers slipping under the hem of his t-shirt to rest against warm skin. 

“Just give him a few days, Rose. He’s got to get used to this again.”

“To being alone?” Monroe tensed against her, and she knew it was a sensitive subject, for all of them. Nick had been left alone quite often as a child, when his Aunt Marie had toured the country and left him in hotel rooms and in musty, pre-furnished apartments for her “job.” Monroe had bad memories of self-inflicted seclusion, and she can remember how alone he had felt in the height of her drug habit. Maybe that was why they gravitated together; a trio of broken toys creating their own little island for misfit wesen and Grimms. 

“No,” Monroe snorted, burying his face in her hair. “He needs a little practice at being heartbroken.”

Rose pulled him upstairs to their bed, and held him in her arms until the sun rose again off in the east. 

\-----

Rose stabbed the Reaper in the back with her chef’s knife, and slid the blade out slowly, twisting it around as she did. He fell to the floor, soaking blood into the grout in the tile, and Nick sliced the head off of another one in the living room. Monroe’s claws retracted as soon as he scented death in the air, and ran into the kitchen. 

“It’s okay, Rose,” he said cautiously. 

“Yeah, I know it’s okay, Monroe. They’re dead now.” She stabbed the knife into the counter and put both of her hands on her hips. “What’s the next step? Should I get out the stamps?” 

Nick broke down laughing, the Reaper’s scythe hanging limply in his hands. “I love you,” he wheezed, holding his bruised ribs where they caught with each exhale. 

Rosalee smirked widely, obviously pleased with herself, and Nick’s appropriate reaction to her badassery. 

Nick sighed. “I think we’ve sent enough heads. This time, I think we ought to get a little more personal.”

He wrote the royal family a nice little note, basically amounting to nothing more than “fuck you”, and he handed it to Rose.

“I get to do the honors?” 

Monroe, who had spent most of this little pow-wow moaning in his hands, sat down at the kitchen table, avoiding the ever-growing puddle of blood. “You are all insane. What will happen to this town when we all die horrible, bloody, violent deaths?” 

Rose shrugged her shoulders, Nick’s arm that had been settled around them bobbed with the motion, and Monroe finally laughed himself. “I should have collected stamps, you know. Instead of clocks. Then maybe we’d have enough to send out Christmas cards to all the people that hate you.”

They weren’t stupid enough to lick the envelope, considering they had written the letter in the blood of a dead man. Nick knew they would know who sent it regardless. He got a sick sense of satisfaction from knowing that he was high enough on their list to warrant more than just a couple of warning shots. They were serious about wanting him dead, and that meant he was doing something right. 

“You are so smug right now,” Monroe cried into his hands, laughing so hard tears gathered at the corners. “I can smell it on you. Both of you.” 

“Well, we’re all going to smell like death,” Rose murmured, looking at the rapidly cooling bodies on their floor with distaste.

“We can’t call this in either, can we?” 

Nick waved the scythe around, still leaning on Rose a little for support as his ribs smarted, and said, “can’t explain this easily.” 

“You clear out,” Rose suggested. “Take the Headless Horseman with you. I call in this one as a robbery?” 

“And get you two mixed up in the police again?” Nick shook his head. “Not worth it. We’ll dump them, like we always do.” 

Monroe pulled his cardigan off, folding it conscientiously and laying it on the table. He supposed he owned enough white t-shirts to sacrifice another one to Nick’s cause. 

Rose had her hands spanned around Nick’s ribcage, holding him up as he struggled to breathe. “They aren’t broken, but... Are you sure you can do this?” 

“Done a lot worse, in a lot worse shape.” He leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I’ll live.” 

She framed his face in her hands and stood up on her tiptoes to press their lips together this time. It was a quiet, chaste kiss - made more passionate by the sheer intensity of her movements. Nick was shocked by it, and in the same breath, not shocked at all. 

“That’s a promise,” she whispered across his lips when they both drew back for air. Monroe’s hands on their shoulders told them they were not alone in this new vow. 

\------

When Nick had laid down on the couch to sleep that night, Monroe had still been tinkering with his latest commission, and when he woke up at five in the morning, Monroe had still been at it. 

“Dude,” he groaned, trying to dig himself out of the little hole he’d created in the couch cushions. “Did you not sleep?”

“This one little fucking part,” Monroe growled, throwing down one tool for another, smaller one on his desk. Nick didn’t know the first fucking thing about clocks, or how they worked, and he wasn’t in much of a hurry to learn all that much about them either. The mess of Monroe’s desk made no sense to him on good days, when it was halfway orderly, and now it looked like a small bomb had been denoted and some poor clock had been the only casualty. 

“Come on, buddy,” Nick yawned, the words slurring a little, and he patted Monroe on the shoulders. His eyes burned a little and he rubbed at them quickly, trying to get them open enough to actually help Monroe up the stairs if he needed to. 

“You look terrible,” Monroe exclaimed, when he finally looked up. Nick’s soft grey t-shirt was wrinkled and too loose on his frame, and Monroe realized that maybe he should set up a guest room for him, since this is looking like an extended stay. Inviting Nick into his home had been easy, as easy as it had been for him to watch Rose move all her things into his bedroom and clutter his kitchen with her appliances, but he was feeling like a poor host to Nick right now. 

“Thanks,” Nick quipped, fitting his hands under Monroe’s arms and lifting him slightly, trying to force him to his feet. “Have you ever slept on your couch?” He doesn’t give him time to answer, choosing instead to slap Monroe on the ass and point him towards the stairs. “Go to bed before you find out what it feels like to sleep on your desk.”

“First of all, rude.” 

Nick was absolutely not impressed by Monroe, especially since he was swaying a little against the staircase railing, and even smirked a little, his eyes raking down Monroe’s body. It made him go hot and cold all over, but he still couldn’t help it when his eyes were drawn back over Nick’s shoulder towards the mess on his desk. 

“It’s been in their family for one hundred and twelve years.” 

Nick looked over his shoulder, arms crossed against the chill of night pressing in through the windows and the cracks in the doorframes. He should have let Nick go back to sleep on their uncomfortable couch, except he liked the quietness of the moment, the lack of urgency, how they had nothing else to divide their attention from each other. 

“Their grandson knocked it off the table. I’ve kept that clock in pristine working order for ten years, Nick, and... I can’t fix it.” He stopped, and sat down on the stair. He could suddenly tell how tired he was. The sun was rising slowly on the horizon, and they could both see the sky lightening to pink and orange as they stared through the big window in Monroe’s living room. 

Nick sat down on the one below his, pressed against Monroe’s thigh, his arm wrapped around Monroe’s knee. 

“Clocks are... they’re called complex machines, but they are actually quite simple. They don’t have any accessory parts, anything that doesn’t belong. Everything has a purpose and everything in them is necessary. They must not have found all the pieces or something, because I have reconstructed every mechanism inside that clock and I still can’t get it to keep time. I’ve been on the internet looking for replacement parts, and they just don’t make them for this model anymore. I could try to hand make it, but...” He stood, and brushed the lint from the back of his wrinkled, day-old pants. “Forget it, I’m going to bed.” 

“Monroe.” 

He waved Nick off, told him to go back to sleep before Rose came downstairs and started swearing at the coffee maker, and turned his back to him so he didn’t have to see his face. 

\-----

Rosalee and Juliette kept their Saturday lunch date. They had a lot to catch-up on and lunch always gave them an excuse to talk without interruption. There was the whole subject of taxation that, Juliette with her higher tax bracket and Rosalee as a small business owner, caused them to have a rather spirited debate through the salad and main course, even if they were voting party line regardless. 

“Hank called me,” Juliette said, when their slice of cheesecake came to the table. “He said Nick has been house-crashing you and Monroe.” 

Rose kept her eyes on the pumpkin cheesecake, taking a little bit of the whipped cream on her fork. “Juliette, we don’t have to-”

“No, I just wanted to... I guess. I don’t know what I wanted to say. I’m sorry, I guess? You don’t have to do this. I know you guys love him, but....”

Rose pushed the plate closer to Juliette and set her fork down. “Are you happy?” It was a non-sequitur, but she felt like his was what Juliette was really getting at. Juliette tried to steer the conversation back around, but Rose just shook her head.  
Juliette looked torn about answering. It was like it pained her to admit that she was, that what she and Nick had done had been for the best. She shook her head, and Rose stole the plate back. “Good. That’s what matters. You’re happy, and I... I think Nick’s happy, too. You’re right. We... we do love him.” Rose let her head drop to hide the flash of emotion in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “You got to stop breaking the first rule of our friendship.” 

Juliette grabbed her wine glass, polite enough not to mention Rose’s sudden shyness, and held it up with a smile. “The first rule of Girl Club...”

“Is no boys allowed,” Rose answered, clinking their glasses together. They laughed together, a little awkward, but honest. 

The cheesecake, momentarily forgotten, was fought over with a quick tussle of forks, before Juliette looked up and gasped, “Oh my God, can I tell you about patient I had last week? Someone brought in a fucking python.”

Rosalee cringed, not a fan of snakes of any type, and stared at her friend as she told the story. She seemed relaxed, her eyes wide and bright, and the wine swirled around in the glass as she waved her hands, trying to encompass the exact dimensions of this snake. 

“It was like we were in the middle of Anaconda or something.”

“Fuck that,” Rose murmured, smiling awkwardly at the waiter that shot her a look for her language. “This is exactly why I’m not a vet.” 

\-----

Monroe kissed Rosalee like he’s just grateful for her presence. He tried to draw out every second of it, keep her small hands roaming over his chest and her scent in his nose. He thought about the obstacles they had overcome just to be here, about the shadows in their past, and the skeletons in their closets. Rose was a surprise, still waters with hidden depths that he had to distinct privilege to discover every day, and he collected every little bit of her he could and stored it up in his heart. Every minute with her was a gift to him, and he worked really hard not to squander it. 

Monroe kissed Nick like the world was burning around them. He kissed him like, if he opened his eyes, the spell would be broken and he’d lose him forever. Sometimes, Monroe thought, if he could just keep Nick within arm’s reach, he could keep him safe. Nick was a rolling infero, a tornado in a town built on shifting sand. Monroe fought every day to keep his feet under him all while running blindly to keep up with Nick. 

\-----

Monroe stood in the doorjamb, streetlights filtering through the window to frame the scene, and watched Nick and Rosalee sleep. Rose’s soft, silk negligee was wrapped around her long, smooth legs, her hair fanned out around her face from where we she snuggled in close to Nick, her head on his chest. Nick’s sweatpants had rolled up on one leg to expose the length of his calf. He was flat on his back, one arm thrown across the empty space where Monroe had been a few moments ago, before he had all but ripped himself out of bed for his early morning meditation rituals. He had needed less and less of it as the three of them had settled into their new dynamic, but Monroe was a big believer in not fixing something that wasn’t broken, and yoga was good for him. 

They were beautiful, peaceful and whole, and they represented everything Monroe never thought he could have in life, after he had gone wieder. He thought he’d lost his great love in Angelina, who couldn’t bare to follow him on the path of the straight and narrow, and he thought he had lost the Blutbaden side of him when he had walked away from his family all those years ago. And now he had little bits of all the things he’d lost back with him again, wrapped up inside of two imperfectly-perfect people. He loved them both so much, it swelled up and filled up all the little cracks in his heart left behind from having things taken from him, and his own hand carving out all the pieces he didn’t like. He secretly panicked thinking about messing this up, because this has been the closest and farthest away from normal that he’s ever been, all in one moment in time, and he doesn’t want it to _stop_. 

“Monroe?” Rose whispered, lifting her head. “Ugh, is it time for yoga already?”

“Don’t get up,” he murmured, crossing his arms. “Just, uh. Just enjoying the view.” 

Rose rolled onto her back, and stretched, giving Monroe a different view that he liked just as much as the first, before standing. “Give me a minute, I’ll get my mat.” She turned around and patted Nick on the stomach, smiling down at him when his eyes opened. “You coming to yoga with us?”

Nick, bleary-eyed, rolled over and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck no.” 

Monroe laughed, because Nick didn’t do sunrise anything if there wasn’t a paycheck involved in it, and walked over to where Rose was slipping off her nightie in exchange for her sportswear. He kissed the back of her neck, and then looked over his shoulder at where Nick was peeking up from between his fingers. “I’ll wake you up at seven, unless Hank calls.” 

“Thank you,” Nick groaned, pulling the covers up over his shoulder and tucking his head down into the folds like a turtle retreating back into his shell. 

“Hopeless,” Rose said around the toothbrush hanging limply from her mouth, both of her hands occupied with putting her hair into a high ponytail. 

“Exhausted,” Nick answered. 

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Monroe joked, scooping up the bag of yoga equipment.

“Love you. Make us coffee,” Rose called over her shoulder as she skipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Nick mumbled something back, and Monroe couldn’t help but walk over to the bed and sit down on the edge. He threaded his fingers in Nick’s thick hair, just to hear him sigh contently, and pressed a kiss to his shoulderblade. 

“Love you,” Nick hummed, eyes closed and his muscles relaxed. 

Monroe closed the door behind him on the way out.


End file.
